


Price Fixing

by orphan_account



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Floki is the god of meth, Knives, M/M, Ragnar is the god of being good-natured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ragnar acquires a boat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price Fixing

Floki Loki-Born was skinnier and muddier than Ragnar remembered. His hut in the forest had moss crawling up the sides, and the walls were black with sketches.  His eyes still had that sharpness to them, that gleam, that spit of fire crackling in the back. Ragnar put the sack of gold on the table and watched Floki bite the coins, one by one. 

“Are you satisfied?” 

Floki shoved the bag to the floor. Coins rolled, stuck in the crevices of the hut’s floor. “Never.” 

“I have a pig for you too. I know you like to kill them.” 

“They’re for the gods,” Floki said. “I am their beloved. Sometimes we have a nice dinner.” 

“Yes, and you get drunk on mushroomed wine and spend the next two days puking. If the gods truly loved you they’d cure you of your hangovers.” 

“When do you think I talk to them the most?” Floki grinned. He had a knife in one hand and was spinning it hand to hand, “If only you would let me take you with me when I drink my mushroom wine. Trust me, an hour in the sight of Odin is worth a thousand days of heaving up my guts.” 

“You’re strange.” 

“You’re short on a boat,” Floki said. “I have a pig, I have…” He gestured to the glittering floor. “I require a third gift.” 

“Fine. What is your price going to be, wild one?” 

“The same price as it always is.” 

“Oh for the gods’  _sake,_ ” Ragnar said. “Why can’t you just buy yourself a nice slave boy?” 

“Because I don’t want slave boys, idiot.” Floki pointed the knife at Ragnar. “I want you.” 

“You’re not getting me.” 

“Only because your lovely wife is in the way. You should’ve brought her.” 

Ragnar snorted. The last time he had Floki and Lagertha in bed together, he had nearly died. “I’m not making that mistake again. The way the both of you were going on, I thought you wanted to peel off my skin and wear it.” 

“I want a lot of odd things,” Floki admitted. “Still not going to let me burn you?” 

“Never.” 

“It won’t hurt.” 

“Liar.” 

“All right, it will hurt.” Floki set the knife on the table and looked Ragnar straight in the eye. “You wouldn’t scream. It wouldn’t hurt that much, for you to scream. But you’d stop moving and you’d bite your lip. Maybe until it bled, I don’t know. And you’d go home to your wife and she’d see that I’d finally gotten under your skin and she’d send you back to me and I’d do it again. Again and again, until. Uh.” He sucked in his breath and smiled, half-dazed already. “Until you were mine.” 

Ragnar groaned. He stood, undid his belt, pulled his tunic over his head, and then stopped. Floki was watching him, thumbnail in his mouth, eyes bright, breathing shallowly. 

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re flushed.” Ragnar put his hand on Floki’s face, feeling the warmth of him. “Can it be you’re so excited by me, ship-smith? Am I yet so lovely?” 

“Take off your clothes,” Floki rasped, pushing his cheek into Ragnar’s palm. “Take them off or so help me I will build a ship to drown you.” 

Ragnar did not take off his clothes. Ragnar knelt, so that he could undo the laces of Ragnar’s pants. Floki laughed and sank his hand into Ragnar’s hair. He had the knife still in the other. Ragnar stroked Floki’s hips and Floki moaned. “It’s odd you like this so much, Lothbrok. You can accuse me of being strange – “ 

“ - but I’m a whore forevermore. Yes, yes, I hear it all the time from  _my wife_.” Ragnar undid the last lace and took out Floki’s cock from his pants. It was shining already with precome, and he licked the tip, just so Floki would snap his hips and curse. “Get into bed.” 

Floki scrambled to his feet. Nearly kicked Ragnar on the way over. He stripped his shirt off, his boots, his pants. Ragnar watched him, arms folded. Floki really was too thin, and looked older than his thirty-some years. Too much time in the forest. Too much time drinking wine with mushrooms pounded in, too much time talking to the gods and screaming in ecstasy as they fucked with his already wavery mind. He sighed and kicked off his boots, undid the lacing on his pants and got into the narrow bed. Floki rolled over on him, kissed him harsh and fierce. He tasted of smoke. 

Ragnar felt the knife before he saw it, sharp and meaningful against his collarbone. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax – Floki would usually put it away if he pretended not to care – but Floki pushed the knife to his throat. Ragnar stayed very still. A single drop of blood trickled down, tickled his shoulder and stained the straw of Floki’s pallet. 

“I could kill you,” Floki said. He meant it, Ragnar knew. Could see it in his dark-bright eyes. “I could. I could shove you in a grave meant for me and have you fucking me in the afterlife. Maybe that’ll be the price for your next boat, Lothbrok.” 

“ _My wife_  would kill you.” 

“We could share you!” Floki drew the knife down, down, leaving a stinging line to Ragnar’s collarbone. “I could split you in half – ” 

His grip was loose on the knife. Ragnar grabbed it, grabbed Floki by the hair, rolled him over. He aimed the tip of the blade at Floki’s throat. 

“I want my boat, ship-smith,” he panted. “Please shut up and let me fuck you.” 

Floki wriggled so he could lick the blade, lick it clean of Ragnar’s blood. Ragnar tossed it on the floor and kissed Floki’s smoky lips, tasting blood this time. Floki got hold of Ragnar’s cock in his rough hands and stroked it; Ragnar batted his hands away, pinned them above his head. Floki trembled beneath him, fire contained in a glass jar, cracking at the sides. It was entertaining, sometimes, how crackling with sex and desire Floki could be; tonight Ragnar found it a little sad. Poor thin man. He kissed down Floki’s neck, bit him softly, and Floki slumped into the bed, breathing hard, his eyes round, his lips red.

 “Oil.” 

“Don’t –want – ” 

“I’m not fucking you raw, ship-smith. Oil.” 

Floki pointed, and of course, of course he would put it all the way across the room. Ragnar slapped Floki’s belly and got up to rifle through the cluttered shelves. He turned back to see Floki on his belly, watching him, tongue between his lips. 

“If you ask if I like what I see I will throw you in the ocean,” Floki said. 

“ _My wife_  – ” 

“Would kill me. Yes, Lothbrok, I know. Come over here and hurt me.” 

Ragnar uncapped the seal on the oil jar and rubbed it over his hands. He stroked himself til he was wet and ripping with the stuff and then he climbed back into bed. Floki was taut as a bowstring, breathing hard, and he laughed when Ragnar rolled him over on his side. Ragnar kissed the back of his neck and held him close, feeling his rabbit heart stutter. Sometimes it surprised him that Floki had a heart. Wild man. Demon. He kissed Floki's neck again, hooked his leg over Floki's thigh, stroked his stiff cock with oil-wet fingers. Floki swore and Ragnar crushed him closer. 

"Promise me," he whispered, and Floki shuddered, "promise me that you’ll give me a boat." 

"I promise." 

"Good," and Ragnar pushed in. 

Floki screamed like a fox, struggling and laughing against Ragnar's grip. Ragnar bit him again, felt Floki thrust into his hand. Floki’s body was familiar, new thinness notwithstanding. The way he moved. The way he  _screamed._ Ragnar rolled him over so he was flat on his belly and looped his arm around Floki’s neck. Floki laughed, a strangled sound that turned into a harsh gasp when Ragnar thrust again. Ragnar kissed his neck, one last time, and then let himself shut down. Floki was not Lagertha, who bit back when she was on her belly; Floki did not mind teasing but didn't care for it when he didn't have a knife; Floki wanted to be thrown back against the bed and  _used_. He grabbed Floki's hair and forced his head back and bit him, bit him again and again, and Floki laughed and gasped and swore, the name of his forefather leaking into a litany against Ragnar.

"I'm going to kill you, Lothbrok, uh by the blood of Loki I'm going to - unh - stick a knife in your fucking throat and - " Floki sobbed against Ragnar's arm, his teeth leaving bloodied marks on Ragnar's wrist. "Going to take you to Valhalla and pin you up and stick matches on your flesh, hear me?"

Ragnar put a hand over his mouth.

It was over too soon. It was always over too soon. Floki gave a muffled and painted Ragnar's hand white. Ragnar put his damp hand against Floki's mouth, felt his evil little tongue licking it off, and the thought of that rather than the action made him grunt and pour himself out.

They lay tangled in blood and oil and spit, panting, and then Ragnar pulled himself out and cuddled Floki's limp body to him. Floki purred like a cat and rolled to face Ragnar. He had come on his lips.

"You have a ship," he said, and dug his nails into the wound on Ragnar's neck.

Ragnar slapped him. Ragnar kissed him. He fanned his fingers out on the ridges of Floki's ribs. "Have you eaten today?"

Floki licked his lips and grinned.

"For fuck's sake, ship-smith. You're one of the richest men in - " Ragnar shook his head. He poked Floki in the belly. "Eat the pig."

"It's for the gods."

"Eat the fucking pig." He stroked Floki's hair. "I'll get you another one to give to the gods."

"I'll take another Ragnar instead."

"Not happening, wild man." Ragnar sat up, found his boots. Floki watched him, lizard-eyed. "Stay in bed. You do have food in here somewhere, don't you?"

"I have mushrooms."

"Dear gods," and Ragnar sat back down. He folded Floki into his arms. "I'll carry you home. Lagertha can make you supper and she'll be a better Ragnar in bed than I could ever be."

Floki kissed him, surprisingly tender. Floki raked his nails down Ragnar's back. That was almost as good as a hug. Ragnar let Floki nestle into his arms, let Floki nip and lick like a rabid dog as he curled into a little pillbug shape. Let Floki fall asleep, twitching, before he slipped him back on the bed and pulled the furs over his thin body. He sat for a moment, petting Floki's sleeping form, before finding his tunic on the floor and pulling it over his head.

He had a ship.

He picked the coins from the floor, one by one, and arranged them in a smiley face on the rickety little table.

He had a ship.

The center of the Þing was about a ten minute's walk away from here. Some slave girl would be awake, cooking for the feast tomorrow.  

Floki snored.

Ragnar rubbed the leaking cut on his neck. Ragnar smiled. Ragnar threw back the fur on the bed and got back in. Floki was warm and his rabbit heart had stuttered to a slower pace. Ragnar kissed him and pinched him and thought of the sea, wild and bloody, and of Floki clinging to the mast. Thought of fire against his skin. Thought of Lagertha and her round breasts. He tucked himself against Floki's ratty body and closed his eyes. He'd be a sane man again in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone is responsible for this. They know who they are. [Soundtrack](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Zy60YGs81k), repeated for two hours starting at 3AM.


End file.
